Sandra's eyes snapped open, her body still throbbing from the aftershocks of her brutal spanking. Every nerve screamed with the memory of those hard, stinging slaps and the mind-blowing orgasm that had torn through her. The pleasure had been sinful, the pain exquisite, a violation that left her desperate for more, eager for his Cock.
Unfortunately for her, Joshua was gone, leaving a silent, empty room that echoed the hollowness in her soul. For the first time, Sandra truly understood the lesson the Cognitive Corruptor app had been drilling into her subconscious: she was nothing unless she was serving her father, worthless until she had his Cock in one of her holes.
As she got up, the cheap, rough fabric of her maid's sex costume chafed against her tender skin. Her ass burned with each pulse, a constant reminder of the rhythmic beating she had just endured. Dark bruises were already blooming on her flesh, a vulgar display of her father's power, her submission, her utter lack of self respect. Her latest explosive orgasm had wiped out any sense of guilt, leaving her raw, exposed, and desperate for another hit.
The kitchen was a disaster, a reflection of the depravity within her. The sight of the overturned dishes and spilled food filled her with shame. She had failed to endure her father's abuse, her body betraying her.
"Whore…” she whispered to herself, the word no longer felt like an insult but like truth. The pleasure had been a corruption, staining her soul, leaving her forever marked by the experience. The last shreds of dignity and shame that she had tried so hard to keep, had been obliterated in the face of such raw, overwhelming sensation.
Before Sandra could drown in her new found depravity, she remembered her last conversation with her father, where he had made it clear he still wanted her to attend school. Whatever her father wanted of her he would get, it wasn't sex slave's place to ask questions, only to obey. She scrambled upstairs, driven by the need to fulfill his command, to prove her submission and devotion. Each step was a silent vow, a promise to be the perfect daughter, the perfect slave, the perfect cumdump..
Sandra stood in her bedroom, the soft light casting a warm glow on her luscious curves, inviting touch. Her black and white maid sex costume clung to her body like a second skin, accentuating every inch of her supple flesh. She hated having to take it off, as if shedding a part of her identity, a part that defined her purpose. With a sigh that was almost a moan, she started to undress, the lace and satin sliding off her tits and ass with a teasing whisper, a final caress before she donned her school uniform, a facade of innocence that would hide her true nature.
As she put on her school uniform, Sandra felt a twisted mix of revulsion and excitement. The starched white blouse and pleated skirt were a familiar routine. But today was different; she wouldn't let school distract her from her true purpose. She yanked on a crotchless thong, the lace an insult to the properness of her uniform.
The feel of the cool air on her freshly shaved cunt and tight asshole was both a thrill and a jolt of need. She buttoned her blouse, the fabric brushing against her hard nipples, and smoothed her skirt, feeling a secret power in knowing her cunt and ass were bare, waiting for her father's next inspection. With a final look in the mirror, Sandra grabbed her school bag, a smirk playing on her lips.
Her phone buzzed, and a jolt of hope shot straight to her cunt. She prayed it was her father, a desperate need for his voice, his commands. The number was unfamiliar, her phone had to remind her it was the convent she'd applied to join what felt like a lifetime ago. The sight of it sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine, a physical reaction to the very idea of a life without her father's touch, his control. She answered, forcing her voice to be steady despite the chaos raging inside her.
"Hello? Who is this?" Sandra asked, her fingers shaking as she held the phone to her ear.
"Sandra, it's Sister Helena, the Mother Superior from the Sisters of Charity of Our Lady of Mercy at the Queen Street Motherhouse. We haven't heard from you in over a week, and I called yesterday to check on you. I wanted to make sure you were okay and to assure you that everything is ready for your arrival. Your life of service and devotion will be a blessing to our community."
Sandra listened, her mind a mess of conflicting emotions. Confusion clouded her thoughts; she barely remembered even applying to the damn convent. The idea of being away from her Daddy, from his hands on her body, filled her with a gut-wrenching dread, a terror she couldn't even begin to process. Her stomach twisted at the thought of leaving him, of being cut off from him, from his pleasure, from his abuse, from her entire reason for existing.
"Mother Superior," Sandra began, her voice barely audible, "I... I don't know what to say. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. I've been... busy." She spoke the words, but her mind was miles away, replaying the feel of her father's hands, the sting of his slaps, the dizzying rush of her orgasm.
“Sandra, it's okay to have doubts; we understand this is a big step. But remember, your devotion to God and your service to our community will bring you true peace and fulfillment. We're here to hold your hand every step of the way." Sister Helena’s voice was sweet but firm.
And yet to Sandra the words were a load of bullshit. 'Peace? Fulfillment?' The only way she could have that was by worshiping father's Cock, by surrendering his domination, by being his to own, his to use and abuse, without any limits to his authority.
Sandra's grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles turning bone-white with the effort to maintain control. The phrase 'devotion to God' felt like a sick joke, a cruel mockery of her true desires.
‘Devotion, to Cock more like it', she thought with a smile. Her latest orgasm under her father's hands had shattered all the stupid little fantasies she'd ever had about being a nun.
Worse, this call from the convent felt like a direct challenge to her father's authority, a test of her loyalty and submission. The thought of leaving him, of being cut off from his touch, his control, it was insanity.
'I am a worthless rapetoy, all that matters is Daddy,' she thought, the words were like a mantra.
"Mother Superior," Sandra said, her voice steadier now, laced with a newfound resolve, "I appreciate your concern, but I need to be honest with you. I... I don't think I can join the convent. I don't think it's my path anymore."
In her mind, she pictured taking her vows, but instead of a crucifix, she saw her father's cock, engorged and throbbing, the head glistening with pre-cum. It was thick and veined, a monument to his power, her new God. She imagined it filling her mouth, stretching her throat, the taste of him a sacrament. In the past, she'd fought these images, but now, she welcomed them with a hungry smile. This was the only devotion that mattered to her anymore.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, a moment of stunned silence before the Mother Superior finally spoke.
"Sandra, are you sure about this? We've been preparing for your arrival, and your presence here would be a great blessing. Please, take some time to reconsider. God has a plan for you, and we believe that plan is with us."
Sandra's mind flashed back to Father Thomas, to the priest at her local church, the one who had pushed her to join the convent. His words of wisdom and guidance now felt like a lie, a web of deceit designed to keep her from her true purpose.
"Mother Superior," Sandra said, her voice a mix of shame and defiance. She wanted to scream at this stupid bitch, to tell her that no fake God could ever compare to her father and his cock. But that might cause trouble for her Daddy, and that was simply not an option.
"I don't give a fuck about God's worthless plans. I know what I have to do, what I was born to be. And I won't deny it for another second! Don't waste my time calling again."
With that, Sandra slammed the phone down on her bed, her heart hammering in her chest. A wave of clarity washed over her, lifting the weight of that stupid convent decision off her shoulders. She realized the convent was never her path, just a pathetic attempt to hide her deepest, darkest, incestuous cravings.
Her mind went straight to her Daddy, and her body throbbed with a mix of need and anticipation. She remembered the power, the raw physical pleasure, the feeling of belonging she only found in his abuse. She finally understood that her true purpose was to serve him completely, to be his sex slave, his plaything, his property.
To be a good daughter, the kind of daughter her Daddy deserves, she had to abandon the useless norms of society, all morals, and any and every idea of dignity and self respect she ever had, and finally embrace her true purpose: to be used, to be owned, to be nothing more than fuckholes holes for her father's pleasure.
When she thought of God now, she pictured Daddy's cock, a throbbing, obscene symbol of her worthlessness, a twisted, sacrilegious replacement for the useless fairy tale she used to believe. It was her new religion, and she was ready to kneel before it, to offer herself up as a sacrifice, to be used and abused until she was nothing but a quivering mess of need.
'I'm just a cunt, and Daddy owns it.' Sandra thought with a smile and without the mind control app having to influence her. She was born to be his, to be his rapemeat, and that was the only truth that mattered.
With her newfound clarity, Sandra turned her attention to the religious artifacts and possessions in her room. In a fit of rage at the stupid lying cunt she had been, she began to destroy them, taking perverse pleasure in doing so.
She grabbed her Bible first, its leather cover worn from years of wasted devotion. She ripped it open to a random page, her fingers trembling with a mix of rage and lust, and started tearing, the paper ripping with a satisfying sound, each tear a release of her pent-up sexual frustration.
“Your words are just a bunch of lies," she sneered, scattering the torn pages across the floor like confetti at a whore's wedding.
"You preach chastity and purity, but this whole damn book is filled with stories of incest and rape! Lot and his daughters, Tamar and her father-in-law... it's all right here! So why the fuck is it okay for them to sin, but I'm supposed to be pure and innocent? Bullshit! I was made to be raped by Daddy! It's the only thing I'm good for!"
Next she snatched the statue of the Virgin Mary, the cold porcelain smooth against her trembling hands. She hiked up her skirt and ran the head of the statue across her cunt lips, smearing her juices across its serene face, defiling it with her immoral lust, a mockery of the very idea of purity.
"You smug bitch," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.
"You think you're so special, so pure? You're just a glorified incubator. You never knew real pleasure, real pain. You never had a man take you, break you, own you. You're nothing but a prudish, stupid frigid bitch! A symbol of everything I refuse to be." With a guttural scream, she slammed the statue against the floor, shattering it into a million pieces.
"Now you're just as broken and useless as I am, you sanctimonious bitch."
She ripped the tiny silver cross from its place in her night stand. It was a relic of her former life, a symbol of the lies she used to believe.
"Worthless," she spat, holding the cross between her fingers. She knelt down and spread her legs, exposing her shaved cunt. With a perverse smile, she inserted the cross into her cunt, pushing it deep inside until she felt a sharp sting.
"This is where you belong," she whispered, her voice laced with sacrilege.
"Inside the cunt of a whore, a reminder that nothing is sacred, that everything can be defiled." She left the cross inside her, a twisted symbol of her new faith, her new purpose. It was a constant reminder that she belonged to her father, body and soul..
She began to stroke herself, her fingers moving in a rhythmic cadence, her breath a whispered litany of lust. The image of her father consumed her, his hands a promise of both pain and pleasure, his voice shouting a list of filthy commands.
She pushed harder, faster, the pleasure building, a sacrilegious communion. The crucifix dug into her flesh, a reminder that her devotion was not without sacrifice.
As she neared the precipice, a new prayer formed in her mind, a twisted hymn to her father:
"Daddy, whose cock is my salvation, hallowed be thy seed, thy touch, thy will. Thy kingdom comes within me, a temple of flesh and sin, thy will be done on my body as it is in my soul, a horny sacrifice to thy lust."
The sensation of the cold metal crucifix inside her only heightened the intensity, a perverse mix of pain and pleasure that drove her to the brink of ecstasy. She moaned softly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lost herself in the moment, her body aching for more.
Her voice grew more urgent, the words of the prayer becoming shameless, pathetic begging, a desperate plea:
"Please, Daddy, let me worship your cock, let me feel it stretch me, fill me, own me completely. I beg you, use me as your personal fucktoy, your rapemeat. I am yours to command, yours to defile. I am nothing without your cock, my only god, my only purpose."
She was on the verge of another orgasm, her body trembling with desperate need, her mind lost in a haze of lust and sacrilege.
But then, her father's memory, his voice telling her to go to school. Her need meant nothing, only obedience and his fulfillment mattered.
She stopped, her hand falling limp, the crucifix a cold weight in her palm. His command was law, and her own desires were nothing in the face of his will. She pulled the crucifix away, disgusted by her momentary lapse in obedience. She was his rapetoy, and her purpose was to serve him, not to indulge.
She quickly composed herself, the lingering arousal a brand of her own depravity, it was better this way a sextoy should be horny, desperate for defilement. School awaited, but her thoughts were already consumed with how she would prove her devotion to the only god that mattered.
With each step towards the school bus, Sandra's mind throbbed with images of Joshua, the sting of his hand on her ass, the dizzying pleasure of her own surrender, a pleasure she now knew was her only true communion.
She knew that nun fantasy was dead, a lie she'd almost let herself believe; her real life was about serving her Daddy, being his personal fucktoy, his willing slave, a living sacrifice to his desires. As she walked, the weight of that lie lifted, replaced by a dark, delicious sense of purpose, a perverse calling that resonated deep within her soul.
She was determined to play the part of the good girl, the obedient student, a mockery of the piety she once embraced, but all she could think about was getting back home, getting back to him, confessing her sins, and begging him to take her, to use her, to break her, to defile her in ways that would make the saints weep.
The thought of his power, his control, his complete ownership of her body and soul sent shivers down her spine, a mix of terror and a desperate, aching need, a craving for the very thing she'd once been taught to fear. She knew she belonged to him, body and soul, and her only purpose was to serve his desires, no matter how twisted, no matter how blasphemous.
As she reached the school gates, Sandra took a deep breath, preparing for the day's performance, a sacrilegious charade of innocence and obedience. She would be the perfect student, the picture of piety, a living lie that she would use to mask her true desires, but her soul was lost, lost in fantasies of Joshua and the exquisite pain of her submission, a twisted form of prayer.
She knew her true life awaited her return home, a life of sin and degradation, and she was ready to embrace it, ready to be his sex slave, his personal rapemeat, a worshiper of his Cock, desperate to be used and abused until she was nothing but a quivering mess.
